


Dancing with a Wolf

by CrescentMoonDemon



Category: Hellboy (2019), Hellboy (Movies 2004-2008), Hellboy - All Media Types, Hellboy Animated (Movies)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Humor, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Werewolves, more tags to come, no plot just vibes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 10:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29624877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrescentMoonDemon/pseuds/CrescentMoonDemon
Summary: Reese has kept to herself for years, never staying in one place long, never making friends. She's been careful for so long, but once a month, every month, it doesn't matter how careful she is. Chaos comes, and it comes with teeth.
Relationships: Hellboy (Hellboy)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 11





	1. Howl

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing but I'm having fun so let's just efking do this. *cracks knuckles and breaks every bone in my body*
> 
> I'm just doing whatever the heck I want as I go, so idk how any of this is going to turn out. Most chapters will be quite short, and the whole Hellboy universe I'm channeling is literally just a grab bag of traits I like from the different films/universes, so consider this to be a universe where kind of everything happened.
> 
>  **Things to be aware of for this fic:**  
>  -Liz is from the animated movies (she is _not_ in a relationship with Hellboy).  
> -Abe's characterization is a cross between his 2k4-2k8 and animated movies self.  
> -The BPRD headquarters is based off of the 2k19 film location and the 2k4-2k8 film's interior with some original elements in place.  
> -Hellboy and Professor Broom's relationship is based off the 2k4-2k8 movies (as is Professor Broom's legacy and death).  
> -As for Hellboy himself, you can choose whichever version of him you prefer to visualize here.  
> -Characters from all continuities/films will be mentioned, and unless otherwise specified you are welcome to picture them as whichever version you prefer.

Waking up is the hardest. It’s like coming out of one nightmare straight into another.

Every full moon passes like a dream, a delirium where every fear and plea gets twisted into the worst possible outcome. 

Don’t chase that man! _**Rip him apart! Kill him! Eat him!**_

Don’t chase the car, there could be more people! _**Chase it! Hunt it! There’s prey! More prey!**_

 _Hungry. . . ._ I’m so . . . so _**hungry. . . .**_

For the first time, the dream has demons, too.

A red demon pursues us, hunting us as we hunt him. Burning crack of gunfire, bullet graze—fuck, what is that? Agh, it hurts!

 _ **Kill him! Rip him apart!**_ Just run! Get away! _**Eat his guts! Kill him! Kill him!**_

_Just run away!_

His smaller companions would make for easier targets, but his is the pursuit we always return to. Bigger prey; _**bigger food**_. The moldering wood of the cabin door slows us down but doesn’t stop us. Once we get inside, the brawl is fierce. We rip into his arm like clawing at stone. He struggles, raises his gun; we swipe it from his hand, and it shatters a window.

We collide. We snap; we howl. Saliva wets his face close enough to taste. He grapples. Cusses. Slugs us in the snout hard enough to daze, to loosen a tooth. He grabs on tight, strong legs pinning our arms to our sides, and locks our bottom jaw in his stony fist.

We thrash. We howl. He does not let us go.

When the sun peeks through the rotten slats, the nightmare twists into screaming, burning, snapping, and cracking. Howls morph to lung-rending screams. Our skin boils as the wolf begins to melt. Burning. Crackling. Crunching. My nail beds rip open as my skull cracks from behind. Fire roils up from my insides; my stomach vomits up putrid chicken meat and wet clumps of feathers across the broken floor. My spine breaks, bending me into a crooked, sickly shape. For one silent, painless moment, my heart stops. I pray it will not restart.

 _Bu-dump._ Gasp!

But it always does. 

My teeth recede into my skull as my face resumes its former shape. I lie sobbing, surrounded in vomit and steaming, melting wolf flesh and fur.

Only the nightmare hasn’t ended. The demon is still there. He stands over me, red as hellfire, horns filed to round stumps upon his brow. I don’t ask for mercy; I want anything but.

He removes his coat, tattered and stained with blood and muck, and lays it over me.

“Y’okay, kid?” he asks gruffly. Like he’s found someone lost and cold on a mountain trail. Not spent the night trying to stop a monster from ripping out his throat.

“No,” I look away, unable to meet his intense, yellow eyes.

I don’t have the strength to stand, but without having to ask he picks me up and carries me down the mountain. I don’t fight him. The wolf is the one who fights. Me, I survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless plug but uh I owe this entire fic to inspiration from reading the lovely [hagelpaimon's](https://hagelpaimon.tumblr.com/) one-shots because they steamy as _FUGK_ and I _LOVE THEM_. For real, read what she writes, it's for realizies amazing!


	2. Newcomer

She is no stranger to threats, and threatened is precisely what she feels as the backs of the three suited men depart the hospital/medical ward room. Hellboy stands just beyond the doorframe, watching them leave with a furrowed brow and no small degree of contempt. He may not have been present for the discussion, but he knows what was said. 

Hellboy raps the doorframe twice with his left hand.

“Knock-knock,” he says. “Can I come in?”

She doesn’t know him, not really, but in the past few hours she’s learned enough to know if she told him to go, he would without question. Monster that he is, he’s the only person who’s treated her like a, well, a person in ages. (She learned his name only that morning while riding in the back of a giant black garbage truck, wearing nothing but his overcoat while a fishman looked her over, measuring the shrinkage of injuries she sustained hours before. All things considered, it was turning out to be a strange day.)

She nods silently.

“Don’t let ‘em scare you. They talk a big game, but I’ve been a player here longer than most of them’ve been alive, and it’ll take more than one or two bad nights a month to land in hot water. You’re under the BPRD’s protection, now. You’ll be okay,” Hellboy says. He sits on the foot of her bed. The tail is a surprise. “How you feelin’?” 

“Okay. I think. Don’t really need the IV, but it feels kinda nice to be treated like a normal person with a normal body,” she murmurs. She hasn’t needed so much as a cold remedy in more than a decade. Not since she survived a mauling by a thing a ranger later claimed was a rabid grizzly; that was 156 full moons ago, but who was counting? “Guess I don’t need to worry about you finding anything weird in my bloodwork, huh?”

“No such thing as weird ‘round here. If you were normal, now _that’d_ be weird,” he says. He offers a small smile, a note of humor like an olive branch.

She smiles a little back. There’s nothing really happy about today, but it feels good to smile nonetheless.

“So what’s your name?” he asks.

“My name?”

“Yeah. Unless you want me to just keep callin’ you ‘kid.’”

The men earlier already knew who she was. Everything about her from her name, where she was from, the degree she never finished, her last odd-job, and where she’d set up her tent last week. They threatened her with the names of family members who she’d been dead to for more than a decade. Hellboy, though not in charge, definitely has authority here. He already knew who she was—there is no way he doesn’t—yet he cares enough to ask.

“Reese,” she says. “It’s Reese.”

One corner of his mouth quirks a grin. He extends his hand, an onyx rosary wrapped like a bracelet around his left wrist. “Nice to meet ya, Reese. Welcome to the fucked-up family.”

She takes his hand, squeezes, and shakes it once. It’s strong, calloused, and warm.

* * *

“Did I . . . ? Were you hurt?” Reese asks haltingly.

Hellboy stops just shy of the doorway. Looking back, he’s got that grin still. 

“Me? Nah. I take a lickin’, I keep on tickin’,” he says. Confident, assured.

Reese isn’t sure she believes him. Her memories of the other night aren’t clear, but it’s tough to question him. She has flashes. Impressions of claws and gunfire. A burning sting in her hip. She lowers her gaze to her lap.

“Thank you. . . .” she murmurs.

His confidence falters there, sobering just a tiny bit. Because her gratitude is tinged with uncertainty. With fear.

“What for?” Hellboy asks.

“For not killing me.”

His grin melts completely. He looks briefly to the floor, shifts his weight foot to foot. “You’re, uh, you’re welcome. It's my job. Look, kid. _Reese._ I know everything is—a little overwhelming right now. But you’re safe here. You’re gonna be okay. I promise you that.”

Reese just nods, still not looking. From the corner of her eye, she sees him nod, too.

“Get some rest,” Hellboy says. “Someone’ll . . . show you to your room once the doc clears you.”


	3. Tucked Tail

Reese sits huddled at the furthest corner in the dark, doing her best to impersonate someone who does not exist. 

It’s been a week. She should be grateful, she guesses. At least in here, they feed and house her. She doesn’t have to worry about hostile visitors or if the tent is going to spring a leak. She even has a TV with a few channels, and there’s a library she can visit (supervised, of course) to read old books centuries out of print. 

She’s also not the only human-not-human. There’s Liz, she sets things on fire. A guy named Sidney who ‘knows things.’ They tell her about psychics and witches, two things Reese suspected ever since wandering through Louisiana three years ago: the old woman who stared her down in yellow lamplight, moving as one with the eyes of the python around her neck. Reese never sought to confirm, was content to live and let alone. 

Liz, at least, is friendly if cautious, answering questions and making conversation while holding a respectful distance. Sidney has less control of his pokerface, however; he flinches when Reese smiles at him. Her face isn’t remarkable outside of the moon, but a man who ‘knows things’ probably sees a lot more than pink lips and square teeth.

_Lips drawn back. Fangs stained red, viscera hanging like clothes on a line._

Reese excused herself. 

That was yesterday. She hasn’t left her bathroom since. Been doing her best to imitate a clog in the bathtub drain. There are occasional knocks on the outer door that grow in frequency with each missed meal. The room phone rang twice after she missed dinner last night. It rang every hour after she wouldn’t open for breakfast, and it’s been ringing every few minutes since.

Now, the knocking has resumed, but she still hasn’t left the bathroom. There is a deeper, harder rattle behind it this time. There are voices, now. One stands out. It’s tough not to recognize. Reese curls her arms tighter over her knees; the first ram bashes the door with a resounding _CRACK_. She jumps, listening intently for the coming trouble. One more hit, and the wood gives before the latches do. Jingles and clicks, and the outer door creaks open.

Feet storm into the room, a commotion rising when she’s not immediately present to find. Then silence. A closed bathroom door is enough to draw suspicion. 

“Everybody out,” a gruff voice orders.

“HB, are you sure?”

“It’s okay, Liz. I got this.”

The shadows slowly recede, leaving behind only a single pair of feet behind the bathroom door.

A knuckle raps the frame. “Knock-knock.”

She remains where she sits, quiet, watching. Tucked in place.

“Reese?”

_Please, go away,_ she pleads silently.

“Hey, kid, it’s okay. Whatever you think you did, you’re not in any trouble,” he assures her.

She believes him. Not that it changes anything.

_Please, leave,_ she asks, but in her gut she doesn’t really want to be alone. She wants to talk. Wants— _begs_ —for someone who can understand. 

“I’m openin’ the door,” he says.

The handle turns with a soft click; she didn’t lock it. It opens to his silhouette. How pathetic of a sight he must find when the light shines in.

“Can I come in?”

Reese nods without raising her head. The door clicks when it shuts, sealing off the light. His hooves clack with each step on smooth tile. He doesn’t speak. Just lets his breath out while taking a seat on the floor beside the tub; by the sound he makes, the movement takes effort. Hellboy is not small, and the bathroom isn’t big. Yet, he sits, and he doesn’t ask or say anything.

The silence that settles is . . . it’s not tense. No expectancy. No real want for anything, really. It’s easy. It’s quiet. Calm, even. His breath is steady and deep.

“’S kinda nice in here,” he murmurs. “Could use some decorations.” Hellboy gestures at the counter. “I got a little cat figurine I think’d look great there.”

“Why’re you here?” she asks weakly.

Yellow eyes slant her way in the dark. “’Cause you’ve been worryin’ people all morning—and scarin’ the hell outta me.”

“Nothing scares you.”

“Wrong,” he replies. She peeks over the edge of her knees. When he speaks, his tone is low and even, “When people like you an’ me got a reason to hide, it makes the humans jumpy. Jumpy humans are a pain. What’re you hidin’ from in here, Reese?”

“I—” She struggles to find her words for a moment. “I scared Sidney. . . .”

His eyes widen.

“That’s . . . it?” His hand slides down his face, squeezing divots in either side of his brow. “That’s what you’ve—? Christ, kid, I’ve seen the guy spook over his _own shadow_ , and you’ve got the whole bureau—”

But she doesn’t reply. Merely squeezes her arms tighter around her knees. Like if she were to hold tightly enough, she could squeeze out of her own spine.

“’M sorry. I know you’re not used to all this,” Hellboy murmurs. He speaks haltingly, like he’s unsure how to best word what he has to say, “I don’t—know—what it’s like—bein’ what you are. What you’ve been through. But you don’t need to worry about hurtin’ anyone here.”

“My existence means people are going to get hurt.”

“Anything existing ever is gonna end with someone gettin’ hurt. That’s just life.”

“Do you know how many people I’ve killed this year alone?” she asks. He lowers his hand into his lap and lets her speak. “Twelve. _So far._ Seven hikers. Two hunters. A jogger. And two old men out ice fishing. I remember killing them all. Like . . . watching it from third-person. Like in a nightmare. I tell myself to stop, but I go. I tell them to run, but they stay. I tell us not to hurt them, but we rip them apart. The next morning, I throw up the pieces of whatever I’ve eaten. I’ve thrown up teeth and hooves, claws and bits of antler. I’ve thrown up engagement rings still on the finger, shreds of clothes, a pacemaker, and once a—” Her voice cuts off as she struggles to speak. “—a pa-pacifier. . . .”

Hellboy says nothing for a moment. Sits quiet as Reese’s body trembles.

“I’m supposed to destroy the world,” Hellboy murmurs.

She raises her head. His eyes glow with a soft incandescence in the dark.

“The moment I came into this world, my father knew what my destiny was, but he believed I could be more than what I was built for. He believed I could be a force for good rather then evil, even if I was meant to destroy. He raised me to be a good man—to believe I could become more than what I was made for,” Hellboy says. “He taught me that we’re more than who we’re born to be, more than what happens to us. We’re more than our destinies or the sums of our parts. We are who we choose to be. I’m not a human, Reese, but I didn’t choose to be a monster, either. I’m not really built for this world, but I got nothin’ else, and there are people here who need me, who believe in me like my father did—because he believed in me first. I hope I won’t ever disappoint him.”

“When you think of me,” she whispers, “what do you believe . . . ?”

“I believe you didn’t choose to be a monster, Reese, and you don’t deserve to spend your life feeling responsible for something you don’t have control over.”

Reese feels a heave in her chest. It comes out like a broken, throaty croak. She sobs. Her shoulders rock as she grips her knees with all her meager strength. Her eyes sting and her nose runs. Without a word, she cries. A hand settles heavy and warm on her back. Delicate strokes up and down, and Reese leans into the side of the tub closest to him. Hellboy scoots closer, squeezing her shoulder to keep her there. It’s the kindest touch she’s felt in so, so long. Coming from a demon meant to destroy the world. 

When she’s calmed enough to breathe again, Reese wipes her nose on the inside of her shirt. Her stomach gurgles noisily. She frowns; she’s spent much of the day suppressing her hunger with water to keep from going out. Guess the tears were what finally did it. How much of her shaking is from emotion and how much is from low blood sugar, she wonders?

Hellboy shifts, and when his right hand appears there is a candy bar in it. Baby Ruth. Of all the things. She can’t help it; Reese smiles a little.

“Boy Scout,” she teases lightly.

“Pays to be prepared,” he agrees. 

She accepts the candy bar and takes a bite. Her mouth instantly floods with saliva; she’s so hungry, the candy is gone far, far too quickly, and Reese puts the edge of her thumb in her mouth to get the chocolate melt off her fingers, too.

“Maybe I shoulda’ brought Reese’s Cups instead,” Hellboy jokes. She’s positively ravenous. 

Reese gives the side of the tub a thwack with her knuckle, and Hellboy laughs knowing that hit was meant for him. Between the candy and his laughter, Reese can’t help the smile that refuses to leave her. She rises to her knees and hugs him tight around his neck. There’s a beat where Hellboy is frozen in place, but in a moment he’s wrapped his arm around her back and squeezes her tight. She holds his head, and he noses into her shoulder and breathes softly. 

“Thank you,” Reese murmurs. 

“Any time, kid,” he whispers.


	4. What’s in a Cell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> addition added to the end of chapter 2!

“The walls are blast proof. They’re modeled off bank vaults, completely impenetrable. The main structure is two-feet-thick reinforced concrete; the floor and walls are lined with quarter-inch plates of tungsten carbide. You won’t even be able to scratch them,” the agent explains. “Think of it like a reverse panic room. Regular panic rooms are built to keep people out. This one is—”

“Built to keep something in,” Reese finishes. 

She places her hand on the glass. It doesn’t feel like glass exactly. It’s dense but smooth, impossible to tell just how thick.

“How thick is the window?” she asks.

“About six inches. It’s actually acrylic, the same kind they got lining Abe’s big tank. It’s light but loadbearing, and it can deform a little without cracking, unlike glass.”

Reese paces the length of the window, inspecting its edges for defects, looking out into the cell beyond. She asks, “Is it see-through? From the inside?”

“Uh, last I checked, yeah. It’s—it’s a holding cell for dangerous paranormal creatures,” the agent replies.

“Is there a way to put a one-way coating on the inside? It won’t be a good idea if it’s see-through. It might . . . give us incentive if we can see someone on the other side,” Reese explains.

The agent makes a face, but her word choice does not go unnoticed by the others in the room. The agent agrees a coating can be placed in the inside to black out the view, and Reese asks if she can tour the interior.

Once inside, Abe gives her an inquisitive, wet-eyed tilt of the head. 

“You said ‘us,’” he observes. His rebreather softly hisses. “And ‘we.’”

Reese frowns. “So?”

“Is the wolf like an alternate personality?”

Reese stops short, frozen on the spot by the question. She’s . . . never been asked that before. She’s had to filter through a lot of questions these past couple weeks, but they mostly revolved around infection vectors, aggression, and healing factors. Never about _interpretation_. 

“Uhm, n-no. Not really. At least, I don’t think it is?” she replies, unsure of her own answer even as she says it. “It’s more like . . . a dream-self. It’s not _me_ -me, but it’s like a piece of me. Like how my fingers are a part of my hand which is a part of me, but they’re not individually _me_.”

“Except your fingers don’t need to be locked inside an actual nuclear fallout bunker every four weeks,” Liz chimes offhandedly. 

Liz places her hand on a portion of tungsten sheeting and tests it with a wave of heat. She receives an elbow to the ribs from HB, shoots him a look that he squarely returns, and Hellboy in turn nods in Reese’s direction.

Reese is looking sheepish, eyes elsewhere and rubbing her arm self-consciously.

 _Oh, crap,_ Liz thinks. “Uh, sorry. That was a crappy thing to say.” 

Reese smiles, grateful for the apology but still uncomfortable by the comment.

“It’s not exactly untrue. When I’m . . . changed, it’s like dreaming. Like. . . . You know how when you dream, your stream of consciousness is all whacked out? If you want to run from something, you can’t move. If you want to speak or scream, you can’t make noise. It’s like that. I’m stuck in that state when I’m changed; I can’t make myself run or speak, but some of my thoughts can sort of . . . influence our actions, I guess? I have this weird sense of half-awareness, but the part that’s actually in control just operates of its own accord. When it— _we_ do things, I can usually recognize what we’re doing like I’m somewhere stuck in the background. I can yell at us to stop and make observations and decisions, but I’m not the one actually moving our limbs.”

Liz and Hellboy listen curiously as Abe nods; webbed digits frame his chin in thought. 

“If being turned is like operating in a dream-state, have you considered attempting to condition yourself to ‘lucid dream’ when transformed? It could afford you at least some influence if not absolute control,” Abe asks.

Reese smiles. He’s so smart, it relieves her to knows someone else has thought of something similar.

“I have, actually. I never could figure out how to connect my changed state with an actual dream one. All of my effort and moon-prep goes into scouting someplace remote where I won’t run into people,” Reese admits. “Plus, I’ve never been able to lucid dream in my life.” 

Abe nods. “Hm. Food for thought, perhaps.”


	5. Time to Consider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the moon approaches, anxiety rises. It’s easy to feel like the walls are caving in until someone comes to help hold things together with you.

“So who do I . . . who do I even ask about the preparations?” Reese asks. 

Hellboy raises an eyebrow and lowers his _Witches, Dark Matters, and the Occult circa. 1824_ book. “Not sure, but I can find out. Why, whadyou need?”

“Food.”

He blinks. 

She clarifies, “The biggest driving force of when I’m changed is hunger. We get _stupid_ hungry after changing. I’m pretty sure it’s the main reason we attack people—because we just want to eat so badly. We’ve run down elk and packs of coyotes just to eat; I think we even took on a grizzly for the salmon and wound up eating the grizzly—” But she’s talking fast. A mile a minute and hardly pausing for breath.

Hellboy puts his hands up to slow her down, and Reese stops. She’s antsy. Always gets this way in the days preceding the full moon. Being cooped up indoors is not helping; it goes against every habit she’s tirelessly drilled into herself over the past twelve years. _Moon coming? Step 1) Get supplies. Step 2) Get out._ She wants to be outside. Outside and far, _far_ away from everything. Not inside surrounded by people she’s honestly starting to like. 

“What do you need?” Hellboy asks.

“Meat. A lot of it. Preferably still bloody,” she explains, pacing in front of the library’s Archangel Michael statue.

Hellboy and Abe share a look through his tank window.

She notices and drains of color. “Oh god, I know, I know! God, Jesus—don’t look at me like that, you two! I know how this sounds, but I’ve never done it this way before and I’m trying to prepare myself for the shitshow this is about to become! I really don’t think you guys appreciate the kind of mess that’s about to go down in here, and I—”

Hellboy is on his feet already, and once he is Reese is trying to rein herself back in from what’s quickly evolving into a panic attack. He puts his hands on her shoulders, and the weight of them helps settle the roiling in her stomach.

“Hey, hey, hey, take it easy. Deep breaths, we hear you on this,” Hellboy says affirmingly.

“I’m sorry, I’m—just trying to figure this all out while the clock’s still ticking,” Reese explains. “It’s . . . it’s gonna be messy, Hellboy. I’ve only ever turned outside, _away_ from people. That room is . . . I’m pretty sure it’ll work, but it’s not going to be pretty. I’m gonna be in a small space surrounded by human noises and smells. A wild animal in a tiny cage. I don’t know what’s going to happen in there. . . .” She trails off; her voice gets very small towards the last.

Reese feels herself shrink, hoping somehow she might vanish beneath Hellboy’s enormous hand. 

“If there’s anything you need, please, you need to tell us,” Abe implores, voice coming through the speakers to their left. “Hellboy is right, we are on your side. Anything that can be done to make the transformation safer for you—and everyone in this facility—must be considered.”

Reese nods shallowly. The anxiety is still there, but it feels smaller, now. They’re taking it seriously. It matters to them because it matters to her. She wonders if they have any idea just how much that means to her. She lets her breath out, and Hellboy pats the top of her head.

“I believe you it’s gonna be rough, kid. Werewolves aren’t fun on their best o’ nights. It’s not gonna be pretty, but that room’s the only option we’ve got. If there’s something we can do to make it easier on you, now’s the time to figure that out,” Hellboy says. “You said meat. We can do that. Are you kosher or halal?”

“No?”

“Good, ‘cause there’s a few sides of pork stuffed in the freezer I’m sure we could get thawed in time.”

A smile splits broad across her face. The edges of her eyes well with grateful tears, and she slings her arms around him in a tight hug. This time, there’s no hesitation. Hellboy squeezes her back, pats her shoulders with his right hand. He smells like smoke, leather, and something inexplicably himself. 

“Thanks, Boy Scout,” Reese murmurs into his shirt.

“We got your back, kid. You’re gonna be just fine.”


	6. Stir Crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the moon looming close, tensions are high. Everything feels on the cusp of certain doom, but sometimes all that’s needed is a sympathetic ear and a chance to feel, even for a moment, normal.

It’s always in the days around the full moon where things go out of whack. At first Reese thought it was because of her body getting ready for the change, but now she wonders if it’s to do with altered brain chemistry or her joints having subtle hiccups.

Her toes and fingertips go spontaneously numb, usually while doing something mundane like getting food from the mess hall or interviewing with the doctor assigned to her case. 

But when her senses have “flareups,” that’s most annoying. 

Someone is cooking and it’s _incredible_. Reese tracks through a number of BPRD corridors in search of the source. Between the smell, her now persistent hunger, and lowered inhibitions, Reese is stalking along with a random BPRD agent worriedly tailing after her. 

Reese finds what she’s looking for in a breakroom. A lady stands in uniform, her head tipped back with a tissue pinched to her nose.

“Oh, hey, Marie,” Reese’s attending greets. “Are you okay? What’s the matter?”

“Sorry. Dumb weather keeps giving me nosebleeds,” the woman replies.

She lowers the tissue, and all the color drains from Reese’s face. It’s spotted with wide blotches of red blood. She turns immediately and hurries away.

It was that. That was the smell. _Blood._

Reese needs to go. She needs to get away. She can’t be in here. Everything— _everything_ —smells. From the paper to the ink to the grit on the bottoms of peoples’ shoes. Women who smell too sweet and men who smell too gruff. It all smells wrong. Glass and marble and steel. Boots that stomp and clack and clatter with every stride. It’s so wrong to her. Polished marble shines like its wet, but she doesn’t smell water. She’s supposed to be smelling earth and trees and leaflitter. Hearing birds and bugs, not people clamoring about a Camazotz artifact six rooms away.

It’s wrong. It’s all wrong. 

Her heart is pounding. Her eyes burn with the chill from the air conditioning. Her ears ring.

_It’s all **wrong.** _

She’s running before she even realizes how fast her feet are moving, pounding her fist on a giant vault door where his scent is strongest. It permeates from inside. She beats on it with everything she has; the clanging metal reverberates in her bones.

Reese doesn’t even realize she’s rambling until the door has been opened.

“Jesus, kid—! Reese, what are you—?”

“—can’t be in here, it’s all so loud—she was bleeding and I could smell it and Hellboy I _wanted it_ —I can’t be in here, it’s not safe!—it’s not safe—I need to get out of here—I can’t be in here— _please!_ I need to get out—I need to—” She rambles in a flurry of words and wide, frantic eyes. 

Hellboy can’t get more than half a word in before the wave of panic slams into her and her senses flip again. Like everything snaps backward, and her hands fly to her head. Her ears go suddenly numb. All she hears is muffled tones and ringing. Shrill, persistent ringing. A powerful squeal like steel beams being rent behind a wall of water. She hears rushing—her own breathing? Heartbeat maybe? Everything is too bright; blurred shapes and light contrasts in a giant blurry mass of blue, brown, black, and red. All she smells is copper. Her fingers and toes burn with numbness.

She is being led somewhere, taken by the arm and made to sit. She cups her hands over her ears and shuts her eyes with her knees pulled to her chest. Reese can’t feel her middle and ring fingers on her right hand or the three middle toes on either foot. She pats the sides of her head, wishing she were in her tent out in the wilderness somewhere. It’d be easier if all there was to hear were bugs and birds, smell only pine bark and dead leaves.

It’s terrible. It’s overwhelming.

Through the rush of blinding noise, something heavy drops over her. The contrasting shadows all cut out into one big shade, and all she can feel is the weight. Like a shroud. Something sets on her head through it, solid and heavy. 

It grounds her. Gives her a point to anchor to until the storm passes.

Her sense of smell settles on the one thing. She can smell him. He completely permeates the air here. A little smoky, musky like aged leather. Earthy. Also like . . . _cats_?

She can still hear, but things are muffled by a literal layer of cotton. He put a blanket over her head. Reese takes her hands down, but the heaviest weight is still on top of her head. It’s his stone hand. 

“You good?” Hellboy asks.

“I’m . . . sorry,” she mutters.

“What happened?”

She explains the sensory overload—just another symptom of the approaching moon—and the girl with the nosebleed.

“I—this always happens before the full moon, but I’m not usually inside right now. I’m usually outdoors, by myself, getting ready for tomorrow. _Away_ from _people_. Being inside . . . it’s not what I’m used to. My—other—there’s so much human around me. . . .” She trails off, not sure if he’ll understand, but he seems to.

Hellboy takes his hand away. He agrees, there’s a lot of human around here.

“What do you normally do to get ready?” he asks.

“I usually scout trails for secluded spots: places with bears or rough terrain. Someplace people aren’t likely to be at night. I get supplies for a few days and hike out as far as I can in a day. I put out bait for us.”

“Bait?”

“Like a turkey or a ham hock from the store. I drag it around. The trail gives us something to hunt for, and if I hang it high enough in a tree it gives us something to pine about all night. It’s . . . distracting.”

“Huh. And that works?” Hellboy asks. He sounds impressed.

“Most times. But if there are people near, I—it— _we_ —” She’s not sure what to call it. Doesn’t know if she ever will. “We still prefer warm meat. . . .”

“Well, the cell’s all set up for tomorrow. If you want, we could throw some leaves around in there? Might make it feel more, I dunno, home-y?”

Reese can just picture it. Some agent tossing leaves around like flower petals and another dragging a chunk of pork around the 30x30ft room on a string. It’s a sight. She even chuckles a bit. She feels his hand return and pull at the blanket. Her immediate reaction is to yank it down and keep it in place.

“No! Please, I—it’s—it’s helping,” she protests, sounds meeker and more desperate than she’d ever like to admit.

He stops. She doesn’t want to let the blanket down. Not when it smells so strongly of him.

Fuck, why do her inhibitions have to be so fucked right now?

“Can I . . . ?” But Reese doesn’t even know how to finish the thought. Doesn’t know what she wants or what to even ask.

“Sure,” Hellboy agrees anyway.

She sits under the quiet of the blanket, and through the light that peeks through the fibers she sees his enormous outline retreat elsewhere in the room. Whatever he was doing before she came pounding and screaming on his door, he resumes it.

“I’m sorry about all this,” Reese mutters sourly. She’s been doing that a lot. Apologizing. But she’s got a lot to apologize for right now, and there’ll be even more after tomorrow.

“Don’t be. This ain’t your normal. Plus, BPRD did sorta kidnap you, y’know,” Hellboy replies. Metal clinks and clangs as he moves something around. “It’s pretty clear you don’t wanna be around no body right now.”

“I don’t wanna be around _humans_ ,” Reese corrects. “The smell is . . . overpowering. That girl with the bloody nose, I feel like I owe her an apology. I must have looked like I wanted to eat her, and not in the fun way.”

“There’s a fun way to eat someone?”

Reese cocks her head. Is he really asking?

The silence alone seems to answer, and the metal clangs again. As it does, his voice strains as he speaks. “Ah, I get it. I mean, I dunno, some people are into that. Roleplay an’ shit.”

“Might be a tad dangerous if _I_ got into character.”

Hellboy chortles. He grunts, metal clangs. What’s he even doing, she wonders? Reese hazards a peek from under the edge of the blanket. She notices three things simultaneously: Hellboy’s room is an absolute cluttered nightmare, there are at least five cats roaming around, and he is lifting weights (bench pressing, to be exact) without a shirt on.

Reese drops the blanket before he can see her picking her jaw up from her lap. Because she’s alone with him in his private suite, and he’s not wearing anything above the waist but a rosary on his wrist.

Jesus—if he was made in Hell, Reese isn’t sure she wants to go to Heaven. 

“Can’t imagine this place is doin’ much better for your sense of smell,” Hellboy comments. 

“It’s not so bad. Animal smells don’t bother me, and everything else just smells like you, which isn’t inherently offensive.”

“Big words.”

“I will survive your sweaty, cat-loving self.”

Hellboy snorts and laughs. The weights clang once more, and his shape sits up.

“Have you eaten?” he asks.

“Uh, at lunch, yeah.”

“You hungry?”

She kind of is. Her metabolism is ramping up in preparation for tomorrow, too. “A bit.”

His shape nods. The sound of his retreat draws her attention, and Reese finally lets the blanket down around her shoulders. Cluttered is the word. Home-y, yes. Or maybe eclectic is a good way to put it. He has what must be six or seven media screens around all playing something different, probably for the white noise, she thinks. Cat toys, crumpled paper balls, and dismantled string toys lay scattered across the floor. She’s surprised she doesn’t smell the litterbox.

A microwave runs from a side area, must be some kind of kitchenette. She has one in her room, and she’s only just starting to gather personal-ish items back after BPRD agents tracked down the location of her tent and returned her personal belongings (minus her whittling knife).

It takes maybe a minute, but the smell of food wafts into the air, and holy hell yeah, she’s a lot hungrier than she thought. When Hellboy next appears, it’s with an olive-green T-shirt on and a steaming microwave dinner in either hand. 

Reese can’t help smile at the unexpectedness of that. He plops onto the bed with enough weight that the spring-back nearly sends her airborne, then he hands her a microwaved tray of mystery-maybe-beef-meat in sauce, steamed broccoli, mashed potatoes, and a side of mac n’ cheese with a plastic fork stuck in it.

“Whachu wanna watch?” Hellboy asks, fork protruding from his mouth.

“Uhm, well, what do you have?”

“Dunno. I fhink _Frasier’s_ on.”

Reese smiles. “I like that show.” 

Hellboy grins around his fork tines. His tail reaches out to the remote on the end table, and the smaller screens shut off and the main TV comes on to a mid-episode rerun of _Frasier_ ; Reese settles in to watch as Hellboy starts shoveling food in his mouth. They talk about movies as one episode bleeds into the next. She mentions her favorite cartoons and he talks about his. She likes anything by Hayao Miyazaki; Hellboy has a soft spot for the classic _Looney Tunes_. All while they fend off the swarm of cats nosing closer to the smell of food.

If Reese is completely honest with herself, she hasn’t been this happy in a long, long time. She wishes tomorrow would never come.


	7. Asunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moon waits for no one. With it comes chaos. With the chaos come teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader discretion: elements of gore and body horror apply to this chapter.

Something about last night seems to have settled her nerves. By time the next day comes, the foreboding sense of expectation she normally feels the day of the full moon has lessened. Maybe it’s to do with spending such an abnormal occasion in such an ordinary setting: eating dinner with a friend(?) and watching comedy re-runs and laughing. By time Reese returned to her room, her senses were back to normal and the encroaching sense of doom was mostly gone.

Today, Reese has the day. She keeps going back to the holding cell, checking things over, nitpicking corners and rapping the tungsten sheeting with a knuckle. With permission, one of the agents humors her and brings in a bucket of pine needles from outside. She spreads them, noting with satisfaction that they have the smell of birds, squirrels, and even a rabbit on them. Things that may help distract the wolf tonight. Someone even donates some old sheets and towels that were to be incinerated, and Reese lays them out like a nest. 

Preparations are complete by noon. The side of pork for tonight has already been placed in the cell to come to room temperature; she had hoped it would be bigger. 

With a chunk of the day left unoccupied, Reese spends the rest of it quietly watching the clock tick away in the library, listening to Abe talk and Hellboy offer assurances. Sunset is at 7:32pm; she can’t stop pacing. As soon as 6:45pm comes around, it hits her like the drop of a coin.

She knows the feeling. The instinct is powerful. 

“It’s time to go,” she says, interrupting Abe mid-theory on the folkloric connections of other were-beasts.

Abe stops short, and Hellboy stands. They go with her to the holding cell. Per her request, only the two of them, Liz, the head of the BPRD, and the research scientist heading her study on lycanthropy, a Dr. François Antoine, are permitted in the observation booth on the other side of the window. According to Dr. Antoine, it’ll be the first time the bureau will have gotten a full lycan transformation on record.

“You shouldn’t sound so excited about that,” Reese replies to his bizarrely increased enthusiasm. She’s known the doctor to be a rather unemotional man up to today. His sudden giddiness is off-putting to say the least. “I hope you liked what you ate last. You’ll be tasting it again soon.”

Liz and Hellboy both meet her at the entry into the holding cell. 

“How you feelin’?” Hellboy asks.

“Like I’m gonna be sick,” Reese replies. 

“Is it really that bad? I mean, I’ve fought werewolves before. Never saw any transform, but is it so gruesome?” Liz says.

Reese looks at her feet. Hellboy offers a sympathetic grimace. Because yes, it is. He alone witnessed her transformation that night. Becoming the wolf is so much worse. 

“You’ll see,” Reese says.

She steps behind a curtain and changes into a black robe provided for her. Normally, Reese just strips naked in the woods, so preserving this tiny bit of human decency kind of makes it that little less stressful.

She checks the time. 7:14pm. Sunset in eighteen minutes. Then it’s showtime. Her heart is racing. Her stomach wrests. Her knees feel weak and her fingers are achy and numb.

“Please make sure the door is locked,” Reese reminds them.

“It seals automatically. Don’t worry, you’re not getting out of there without a wrecking ball,” Liz assures her.

Reese nods. “I hope you’re right.” She tastes iron.

“Hey,” Hellboy catches the door before it swings shut. “What’s your favorite ice cream?”

Reese blinks. She isn’t sure how to reply at first. 

“Uhm, c-cookies and cream.”

Hellboy grins. “Nice. You’re gonna be just fine, kid.”

Reese steps into the room and watches the door pull shut behind them. There is no visible locking mechanism on her side. The vault door is hardly distinguishable from the wall it sits in. The observation window is covered in a mirrored coating. Walking up to it, it feels strange to be looking at herself right now. Wild, wavy brown hair down to her waist, olive legs and neckline showing beneath the robe. She has to remind herself there are people watching on the other side.

A voice pops in from the speakers overhead.

 _“How you doin’, Reese’s Cup?”_ Hellboy asks.

“Never better.”

_“Glad to hear it. Listen, we’re gonna be keepin’ an eye on things from in here, okay? Make sure your—fluffier half doesn’t try anything shady.”_

_Fluffy half,_ she thinks. It almost gets her to smile.

“Tell me honestly, Hellboy. Do you have your gun on you?” Reese asks.

There’s a noticeable pause. _“I do.”_

“Is there silver in those bullets?”

Another silence. Longer, heavier. _“Yeah, kid.”_

“Good Boy Scout,” she commends softly.

Reese goes to her little nest and sits down. She counts her breaths as the ache in her belly grows from a faint, persistent nausea to a splitting cramp. Like a knife stabbing her from within. She feels flushed; it’s nearly time. Rising to her hands and knees, she sloughs the shoulders of her robe and unties the sash to get some air. Her skin’s gone clammy. Her heart is beating faster. It’s getting hotter. Harder to breathe. She’s going to be sick. 

The first, powerful spasm rends through her spine. She jerks and drops in a tense, wailing heap.

 _Don’t fight it,_ she has to remind herself through tears. _Don’t hold it back. Just let it come. Let it **scream.**_

Reese arches up onto her elbows, tugging until the robe is off her in a heap. Her palms dig into the ground as a shot of pain lances up her ribcage. Spasms bend and contort her spine, pushing it up and out against itself. An ear-splitting row of cracks rends the air. Muscles and flesh tear as bones all over her body crack, snap, and lengthen. She sobs. Eyes blown wide, tears burn in her eyes as they swell with blood. Her jaw hangs agape in a muted scream. Her head swims. Her ears blister with heat. The bones in her skull split and crinkle as they change shape.

_Let it come. . . ._

Wet heat surges up through her skin, drips down her shoulders and thighs. Her fingertips burn. Claws erupt through the nailbeds, pushing up and out through her fingertips and toes. She heaves over onto her back while her hands and feet break, digging at her own head and yanking hair and skin from her scalp in shrieking clumps.

_Let it scream. . . ._

Her ears fall off as furry, triangular points rise from beneath the melting skin. Her mind grows fuzzy. More distance. From the pain. The light. The air. From . . . everything. Everything seems . . . farther away. . . .

_**Let me out.** _


	8. Eyes of the Beholder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is pain in beauty, but some can find beauty in the terrifying. What if that terrible thing is someone who matters? Helpless, frightened, fighting back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader discretion: elements of gore and body horror apply to this chapter.

“Jesus-fucking-Christ,” Liz curses aloud, eyes wide. Both hands are locked over her mouth as the scene unfolds like something out of a horror movie.

“He had no part in this,” Hellboy says evenly, watching with folded arms. 

Abe is tough to read on a normal day, but even he isn’t looking at the view straight on. 

The BPRD head cringes away from the window, retreats to the nearest desk, and heaves his stomach contents into a tiny wastebasket. Dr. Antoine won’t—or can’t—look away.

Hellboy has seen a human become a wolf once before, but it wasn’t nearly this clear. He’s not sure what bothers him more: the screams or the sounds of bones breaking.

Flesh rips. Bones snap, crack, and grow. Her teeth fall out and scatter like broken porcelain. Reese wails through it all, her voice growing deeper and distorted as her throat and jawbone elongate. Her skin tears like a torn dress seam, and like a sick, twisted butterfly splitting free of its cocoon, what was once inside heaves itself out and onto its side. It lies still until, with a rapturous kick, heaves a single, gigantic breath. It shakes free of its prison and rises up out of the twisted, empty sack of mangled flesh. The shed skin steams and bubbles beneath it, having once held the shape of someone Hellboy, Liz, and Abe would have all considered a friend.

There’s remarkably little blood through it all.

The creature that stands there is unrecognizable from what it once was. It shakes itself out, staggers like a newborn calf, shiny with birthing slick and not yet steady on its feet. But in a blink, the muscles and bones harden. It lowers its snout to the spilled flesh beneath it and devours it, slavering and ravenous. It lifts its head, opens its eyes, piercing, haunting red, and settles its gaze upon the window.

“It can’t—it can’t see us, can it?” the BPRD head asks nervously.

“Not at all. It’s entirely impossible,” Dr. Antoine says, his smile wider than the Cheshire’s, his immaculate teeth ghostly white against his dark skin.

“Can she . . . hear us?” Liz hesitates to ask. Hesitates to know. 

They have their answer when the beast charges and slams recklessly into the glass. _WHAM!_ A strike so powerful it shakes the entire room, and Hellboy catches himself and triple-checks that the window is not damaged. 

The wolf, dazed, staggers and shakes its head out. Its ears lie flat. It settles a toothy, fanged snarl at the window.

“The reflection,” Abe comments. 

“Reese said she only ever changed in the wilderness. What if that thing doesn’t know what its reflection is? What if it thinks it’s attacking another werewolf?” Liz theorizes. 

_Crap,_ Hellboy thinks. 

“Magnificent,” Dr. Antoine gleams. 

The BPRD head has already abandoned the room.

* * *

**_Attacker! Trespasser! Kidnapper! Fiend!_ **

**_Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!_ **

It’s not! It’s us! It’s just glass, it can’t fight back!

There’s nothing there; it’s only us!

**_Trespasser! Thief! Kill it!_ **

**_Caged! Caged!_ **

**_Escape!_ **

No! We’re safe here! 

**_Run! Escape! Caged!_ **

* * *

It slashes the glass. Its claws rend gouges in the acrylic. Snarling and posturing, its hackles stand raised down the length of its ruff. Huge swathes of the mirrored coating are ripped from the window, the wolf tearing into it with claws and teeth like it were savaging another creature.

They see the instant the wolf notices.

“Doc, maybe you should move away from the window,” Liz murmurs.

Dr. Antoine has stepped right up to the acrylic, close enough to be nose to snout with the beast on the other side. It stops its ripping, comes right up to the window. It stands on two feet. Towering. Gargantuan. Maybe eight feet and change. Hellboy’s seen bigger. He’s faced giants, mountain trolls, elementals, even beings who called themselves gods, but this. _This thing_ makes him feel small.

Breath fogs the glass where Dr. Antoine stands too close. A broader patch of steam blooms from the opposite side, encompassing his whole head.

A dense cloak of brown fur looms. A wide chest, thick shoulders, and powerful arms stand postured. The waist narrows a little more than halfway down and terminates at thick thighs, hocks, and a digitigrade hind. Each limb, fore and hind, concludes with a set of immense claws. It even has a tail.

Dr. Antoine smiles. Lips on the wolf pull back, showing teeth bigger than a man’s finger. He reaches up.

“She’s beautiful,” he murmurs. Reaches—

Only to be yanked back by the cuff of his white coat when the wolf lunges, bodily slamming the acrylic and slashing at it with a vengeance. Its claws gouge four deep gorges into the acrylic. Howls erupt through the speakers with such intensity, Liz scrambles to the controls to lower the volume.

“Better admire from a distance, doc,” Hellboy comments, still holding the man by his shirt. “Might not be smart to get her too excited.”

Dr. Antoine nods, still agape at the hungry maw staring him down. Thick saliva drips string-like from its cheeks.

* * *

Unintimidated and perhaps more than a little tempted by curiosity, Abe steps up to the glass. The wolf paces, restless, incensed. It snaps at the air, lunges at nothing, slams its bulk into the tungsten walls. Each collision makes the metal clang fiercely. The echoes in the observation room are tough to ignore; they must be deafening inside the cell. 

The wolf grabs its head with clawed hands. It howls. It screams. Its maw opens wide as a crocodile’s, full of teeth and dripping saliva as it lets out a noise that shakes Liz in the core of her being. Some primal place that reminds her of why she should always fear the dark places. 

Abe places his hand on the acrylic. 

“Abe? What is it?” Hellboy asks, worried by his friend’s sudden intrigue. Abe’s a chatterbox when interesting things are afoot. Him going quiet is never a good sign. 

“She’s in there. I can hear her,” he says. Head cocked, he tilts his palm. Listening. 

“She is in there,” Liz affirms. The wolf is in the cell. Huzzah. Everyone can see that. Half the bureau can probably hear. 

“No. It’s Reese. She’s in there. Inside the wolf’s mind,” Abe corrects. “She’s screaming.”

* * *

**_Out! Out! Out!_ **

**_Where? No air, no earth! No prey! Where? Where?_ **

**_Out! Prison! Trapped! Out! Out!_ **

You’ll never be out again! This is your prison now!

**_Prison! Out!_ **

_Slam! Slam!_

_Scratch! Cut! Bite!_

_Slam! **Head, head hurts. Out! Want out! Out!**_

Stop! You’ll never get out of here! You’re trapped! You’ll never get out!

**_Out! Want out! Hungry! Prey! Hunt!_ **

**_Free! Run! Hunt!_ **

**_Free!_ **

This is your prison. Know my Hell, you sadistic fucking dog!

**_NooooooOoOoooOOoOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!_ **

* * *

The wolf heaves its head back and unleashes a long, lugubrious howl. It slams its body into the walls, never hitting the same place twice.

“She’s looking for a way out,” Dr. Antoine smiles. “Fascinating.”

“Not if she fucking finds one,” Hellboy barks. He paces the window, peering inside, checking everything— _everything_ in sight—for dents, cracks, scratches, or scuffs. 

“She can’t, right? There’s no way out of there—we tested it,” Liz exclaims, affirming to herself even as she goes over every test they conducted in preparation for today. There were no outlets. Nothing was able to get out of that cell, not even smoke. They were sure of it.

But even the hint of doubt was enough to eat her alive. 

Hellboy doesn’t want to question it, either. He’s seen this cell hold up to things twice the wolf’s size without buckling, but the ferocity this thing displays is enough to worry him. He finds the controls for the speakers and talks into it.

“Reese, kid, if you can hear me, you gotta calm down. You’re only gonna hurt yourself hitting things like that,” he says.

The wolf whips its head around. Eyes blazing, it searches, sniffs. Its ears pivot, raised like high towers. Zeroes in on the box in the corner where the voice comes from.

“Reese. Hey, just relax. Take a breather, and—” He means it as a warning but is cut off without finishing. 

The wolf lunges. Collides with the corner and snaps its maw shut on the speaker box at the top of the cell. It rips it down, a hail of sparks erupting as feedback and static pinch the ears of everyone in the room. The wolf rips into it, thrashing the metal case in its teeth before bashing it on the ground and ripping into the casing with its claws. Searching out something soft to eat.

Hellboy scowls and flicks off the microphone. 

“Nice job, HB,” Liz states, patting him on the arm. “At least we know she’s not a picky eater.”


	9. Come Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How visceral it is to become a butterfly. The chrysalis cracks and splits. How grotesque to be twisted, broken down, and shaped into something new. A caterpillar only dies once. To do it again and again—how horrid.

The wolf prowls a line in front of the glass for hours, slavering and trying to dig its way out beneath the acrylic. Failing that, it locates the meat before long and eviscerates the carcass. Pig bones snap and crunch as the wolf makes quick work of its meal. The wolf eats everything. The flesh, the bones, even the hooves. It even lies down to chew the femur, using its forepaws like hands to brace and leverage the bone, snap it open, and claw out the marrow. 

By time it’s done eating, it goes back to patrolling the cell, nose to the ground sniffing, digging in the leaflitter, whuffling and perusing scents otherwise not present in the room.

It’s nearing sunrise before something changes; the wolf paces the cell restlessly. Like a lion prowling. It snaps and slashes at the walls, claws shrieking on the tungsten sheeting. As sunrise draws nearer, it attacks the cell with renewed vigor. Like it’s trying to get out. Clawing desperately until it staggers back and drops to its knee with a howl of absolute agony. It grabs its head as it yowls, then the snaps and pops of breaking bones resume. 

It lurches onto all fours, clutching at the ground and writhing, its spine bowing as flesh splits and tears. The wolf heaves onto its back, writhing as its flesh melts, howling long and loud as the maw cracks and shortens, splitting down the middle until its skull recedes back into its body. Throws itself into a high, spine-splitting arch, hands thrown out at either side as if in seizure. 

The scream cuts short; its neck breaks in a clean, powerful spasm. Silence. Horrible, dreadful silence. Then a cavernous gasp slams air back into its lungs. Surrounded by a puddle of what was once wolf flesh, Reese rises to her elbows and vomits a slurry of meat and bones on the floor. She fishes shakily through the leaflitter and pulls the tattered remains of the nest over herself, trying to cover her wet, nude body.

Turning mechanisms within the door begin to clink and rattle, and after a moment, a reverberating click sounds and the door swings laboriously open. Liz is the first to rush in and places a new robe over her shoulders (since the wolf destroyed the first) and steadies her friend as Reese sits up.

“Are you okay?” Liz asks.

“No,” Reese whines. She can’t feel her left foot, but at least she’s not waking up in a frozen creek bed.

Abe, Hellboy, and Dr. Antoine are not far behind; though, the scientist bypasses them and goes right to the wolf’s remains.

Hellboy crouches in front of her and says tactfully, “You look like hell.”

Reese gives him a weary look.

“Speak for yourse-elf.” She coughs; one of her lungs hasn’t fully reinflated yet.

“Can you stand?” Abe asks.

“Gimme a minute. Most of me is done, but the—” Her jaw spasms and pops; she cups her ear at the sudden ringing. “—smaller— _ooph_ —bits are still . . . changing back.”

“Looks painful,” Hellboy observes. 

Reese just nods.

“This is incredible,” Dr. Antoine says aloud, drawing attention from the four.

He inserts a probe into the heap of wolf tissues still melting on the floor. By the rate of decay it will be fully liquified in under an hour. His eyes sparkle watching his handheld screen syphon through readings in rapid succession; he takes multiple samples and scoops them into many different test tubes, even swabs up some of the regurgitated bile and meat.

“Are your transformations always so violent?” Dr. Antoine asks without pausing to so much as look at Reese or the others. He may well be speaking to himself. “It’s like a chrysalis. Like a moth or butterfly. One thing transforming into something entirely different, like the body is just a vessel containing the entity inside until it’s fit for release. It’s incredible. So gory.”

“Thanks, Dr. Lecter,” Liz comments, then mutters under her breath, “Yeesh. I bet he’s fun at parties.”

Reese isn’t looking at either of them. Her face is on the pale side, and she is pointedly refusing to do anything other than test the strength of her knees.

“Find your legs?” Hellboy asks her.

“I—I think. Help me up?”

She offers her arm, and Hellboy and Liz take either side. Hellboy has to stoop to keep things even, but once she’s up Reese can brace with some weight on her legs and ties the robe’s sash shut. Her left knee doesn’t quite feel right, but she knows movement will get things back to where they belong soon enough.

“Okay. I got this. I got—” Reese takes a step only to cut short when her knee drops out; evidently her kneecap is not where it needs to be, yet. Luckily, Liz and Hellboy still have her, so her fall is more of a droop.

“Easy, kid. One step at a time,” Hellboy says. “We got you.”

Abe holds the door open as Reese gets along at her most manageable speed.

“Will you be coming, doctor?” Abe asks, rebreather hissing as it sends a pulse of oxygenated water over his gills.

“Oh, no, thank you. There’s too much for me to do here. Go on ahead, Abraham, I’ll radio for someone when I’m ready,” the researcher replies, barely even pausing as he scoops up a larger sample of dripping viscera into a clear plastic bag marked with a biohazard sign.

Abe leaves the vault door ajar for him. Once they’ve made it to Reese’s quarters, she has a bit more strength in her bones and only needs to lean on Liz marginally. From there, Liz takes over and helps Reese to the bathroom, shutting the door behind them.

There, Liz sits her on the edge of the tub; Reese’s leg bobs restlessly as a shade of green swells across her shoulders and up her neck. Liz acts quickly and grabs the wastebasket in time for her to heave a putrid slurry of meat chunks, chewed bone, and a partially digested hoof into it. Liz covers her mouth and nose, turns on the vent fan, and shoves the basket out the door and into the first set of hands outside. Hellboy cusses, Abe makes an incomprehensible noise, but the door shuts before either can get a word in.

“Sorry,” Reese mutters, holding her stomach and reaching for the bottle of mouthwash.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m looking at it from the perspective of someone who gets _horrendous_ hangovers. Sure, this is a bit, uh, _different_ , but the outcome’s kinda the same. What you need is a nice bath,” Liz says, combing through cabinets and drawers in search of something for the smell. “Do you mind if I spray an air freshener?”

“There’s a . . . _uph_ , a candle by the sink.”

Liz finds it—vanilla caramel, _thank Christ_ —and lights it with a flick.

Reese is not used to being taken care of, but seeing Liz trying so hard to help makes her want to do more. So she turns the handle for the bathwater, and when reaching for the stopper notices a set of pastel green bottles in the corner. They definitely weren’t there the night before. Respectively, the bottles read: shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, body wash, and bubble bath in apple blossom flavor. 

“What’re these?” Reese asks, picking up and sniffing the cap of the shower gel. It’s nice. Sweet and floral but not overpowering, even with her senses still on high.

“Oh, those are a gift. HB said seeing you change that first time was pretty rough. I figured nice bath stuff always helps me wind down after a rough mission,” Liz explains. “We thought maybe it would help you feel a little, well, human after tonight.”

Reese smiles genuinely. Living nomadically, she’s never splurged on bath stuff nor been given anything like it as a gift. And given how gross she feels after every full moon, this is going to be a nice change.

“Thank you, Liz. I love it.”

Liz smiles back. “Any time.”


	10. Castle Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A soft moment between new friends. A chance to want—to hope—for something better. It’s not perfect, but it’s enough. It’s a start. It’s _something_.

Reese is confident enough in her own faculties to be able to take a bath without Liz’s aid, and by the time she’s soaked the ache out of her bones, gotten dressed in some cozy cotton loungewear, and wrapped her hair in a towel, she steps out into the room expecting it empty. Instead, Abe is seated on her couch and Liz is leaned over the arm rest, both reading the back of a dark blue DvD case.

She raises an eyebrow, and Liz stands straight at the same instant she notices they’d been discovered. Abe nictates, panics, and tucks the DvD swiftly between himself and the couch. Because that isn’t the tiniest shade of weird.

“You guys okay?” Reese questions suspiciously. 

“Totally. Absolutely,” Liz replies.

“Really. Then why do I get the feeling I’m being plotted against?” 

“’Cause you are,” Hellboy says behind her. 

He flips the towel into her face before she can turn around, and Reese bats it out of the way before rounding on him. Only to stop when she comes face to face with a heaping bowl of ice cream. Cookies and cream flavor. She isn’t even sure what to say or do other than stare at the bowl, then up at him, eyes wide. Hellboy offers no hints. Just stands there looking pleased with himself.

His hand comes up and plants on the top of her head.

“Take a load off, kid. You been through enough today,” he says. Then his expression sobers. “Unless you’d rather get some rest, then we can head out and let you take a nap.”

Moisture prickles in the corners of her eyes. Grateful. Overwhelmed. Happy beyond words.

“I’d like some company, actually,” she says, sounding small. She accepts the bowl when it’s placed in her hands. Her voice returns, and Reese sounds more like herself when she asks, “What’s on the docket?”

Liz holds up one DvD case, and Abe produces the other.

“ _Kiki’s Delivery Service_ or _Howl’s Moving Castle_?” Liz asks.

“ _Howl’s Moving Castle_. I could go with something romantic.”

Abe hops to the DvD player without hesitation, and Reese takes a seat between them on the couch. The lights turn way down low, and Reese has a moment to wonder where Hellboy will sit when he comes around and plops on the floor in front of the couch. He leans on his stone hand and spreads out, but Reese knows he’s not going to be able to sit like that long and still keep comfortable.

“That can’t feel good on your tail,” she says.

Hellboy shrugs. “Ain’t no room.”

“Here, scoot back at least.”

Reese folds her legs up under herself and pats the spot in front of her; it’s prime real estate as far as view of the TV goes. He takes the invitation and scoots back, even props his elbows on the empty spaces between his friends. Completely, unapologetically comfortable. 

Reese smiles, settles more fully, and ignores the twitch in her ankle as the opening credits roll.

* * *

Halfway through the movie, Hellboy has managed to complain twice about houses on chicken legs. The second time earns a swat to his topknot and threat from Liz to burn _his_ bacon if he keeps talking. 

The bowl of ice cream is empty by time Sophie meets Calcifer, and it’s at the point where Sophie goes to the capitol that Reese’s legs have fallen asleep beyond the point of no return. She needs to move them before the muscles settle or she’ll be dealing with spasms for a week. She hazards a stretch, mindful of where Hellboy sits while cautiously disentangling one leg from the other like unwinding a coil. Given the lack of room, stretching out means putting her legs against his shoulders. 

She does. Carefully. 

He looks at the contact then at her.

“Sorry. I can’t feel my feet,” Reese explains.

“No worries.”

The renewed blood flow ignites a new wave of spasms, however. She does her best to ignore it for a few minutes, but then her thigh flexes unexpectedly and her calf starts to dance. Reese cups the back of her knee in an effort to suppress it.

“Muscle spasms?” Abe asks.

“Yeah. They usually stop on their own, but . . . these ones are taking their time.”

Reese squeezes her leg because that’s worked in the past but to no effect this time. It’s not painful, per se, but it’s certainly not pleasant. She only struggles with it a bit, however, before Hellboy encircles her leg with his stone hand and squeezes. Not hard, but the pressure is very— _noticeable_. The spasms continue for a moment, but with the maintained pressure on all sides they gradually slow and stop.

“Thanks,” Reese says softly, so quiet it nearly doesn’t make it out over the sounds of the movie. 

“Don’t mention it,” Hellboy nods. He doesn’t release her, though. Just keeps hold as he settles back in with her leg draped over his shoulder, like a ward against further spasms.

Reese sits quietly, listening to the movie while not paying attention to anything but the warm, firm vice on her leg. She tests a theory and moves it just a tiny bit; Hellboy squeezes her calf. Either to get her body to cooperate or just to tell her to _leave it_ ; Reese immediately stops. Her organs must not be back in the right places yet, because her heart is freaking racing. 

Beside her, Liz is thumbing the screen of her phone in rapid succession. Abe pulls out his, checks something, thumbs the screen, and Liz is checking hers again and typing the next second.

Reese can only suspect, though it doesn’t take a genius to figure what the buzz may be about.

* * *

Reese flops onto her bed. She’s seen that movie more than a dozen times, but for the life of her she cannot remember a single moment from it. And how could she be expected to when Hellboy had hold of her the entire time? With her knee bent over his shoulder, the heat radiating off him into her skin, the rise and fall of every breath through the muscles of her calf and thigh.

She prays whatever enhancements come with his demonic nature that heightened hearing is not a thing. Because, wow, her heart was pounding _the entire time_.

Reese sinks her arms under the pillow and flinches when she touches something. She lifts the pillow up, blinks, and a brief moment of confusion is then swamped by a wave of emotion. A twin pack of Reese’s Cups candy sits tucked away, and under it a folded sheet of white paper. She takes both and sits up.

Unfolding the note, she doesn’t recognize the handwriting, but she knows immediately who it came from by the scent: smoky with a hint of cat.

_I’m sorry you have to go through something like that. I know it hurts and it’s easy to feel like you’re on your own, but I need you to know that you’re not. You’re not alone. We’re all here for you. If you ever need anything, come talk to me. You’re going to be okay, Reese’s Cup. I promise._

_-HB_

Reese lays down with the note still in her hands and reads it again. Then again and again until she can’t keep her eyes open anymore and falls asleep still holding it.


End file.
